A Little Different
by Medusa Davenport
Summary: Fenris wakes up one day and things are a little bit different from how he remembers them.  His companions are just a bit different- or a lot different, in some cases.  And he has to figure out this strange new universe before it eats him alive. AU.
1. Chapter 1

From a kmeme prompt: Fenris wakes up in a different universe.

This is Fenris waking up in a universe that's very similar to DA2, but not quite. Fenris is from a default M!warrior Hawke/Isabela universe where Hawke is pro-mage and Bethany is a Warden. In this universe, Kirkwall is more or less the same, but each of our companions has something just a little different going on.

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><p>When he woke up in the morning, Fenris had a sense that something was different. His head ached, but it always ached when Hawke and Isabela visited. He instinctively checked around to ensure his burly, bearded leader hadn't passed out on the floor in some naked state with the pirate. Not that he really minded seeing Isabela naked, but Garrett Hawke was almost as hairy as the dwarf and had a habit of scratching himself as he sat up. It was an unpleasant morning-after chore when he found them in his house and had to kick him out.<p>

He frowned. His mansion seemed cleaner than he remembered. Odd. Fenris scoured his mind for a memory of someone dragging that insipid blood-mage along. Perhaps she'd taken it upon herself to attempt forcing another act of 'elven goodwill' on him by cleaning.

Someone pounded on the door and he stared down from the landing. "What do you want?" he yelled.

More pounding and a muffled male voice shouted, "Let me in, Fenris. It's locked." Fenris frowned and walked down the stairs. He never locked his doors. There was no point. Let the damn slavers come.

When he jerked the door open the abomination stood in front of him with his arms crossed. But the blonde mage looked different, and not just because he was wearing Grey Warden armor. He didn't seem as weary, or as crazy. His eyes twinkled with humor not unlike Varric. Fenris felt his mouth gape open and stood there stupidly for a second.

The abomination began to talk, but his tone was different. Not the usual whining, but amusement. "Took you long enough. How much did you and Hawke drink after Varric and I left?"

Fenris schooled his face into neutrality and shrugged. "I do not know."

"Well, come on. Get your shit and all that," said Anders, waving a hand at the inside of the house. Fenris resisted a strong urge to flinch. The mage squinted at him and said, "Maker, you're really hungover."

"I must be," Fenris answered. He moved back into the house and jogged up the stairs.

The mage followed him and waited in the front area. "When are you going to fix this place up? It's so gloomy," Anders called. "Do you ever clean at all?"

When he glanced backward to ensure he was not about to be attacked, Fenris realized just how clean it was. No corpses. No broken furniture. Ugly and dank and dusty, but not dilapidated. His heart contracted thickly. Something was very different about today.

* * *

><p>Anders, who didn't act anything like the abomination he knew, announced that Aveline wouldn't be coming along because she was <em>still<em> busy with paperwork as they walked out into Hightown. Fenris glanced around, but the city looked fine. Nobles wandered around the marketplace and up to their Estates and the faithful gathered at the Chantry. As he half-listened to the mage's prattle, he wondered if it was only Anders who was different. But that didn't explain his mansion.

"Oh, have you been to that new bakery just off the Market?" Anders yammered. Fenris tried not to roll his eyes. "Aveline sent me there twice before she took the straightforward way and kicked me out. I mean, Maker, come on. The woman is pregnant and she's trying to finish up all the work from her promotion before the baby comes."

Fenris stared at Anders. "When do you think that will be?"

"Any day now!" Anders flung his hands in the air and began to prattle. Fenris soon learned that the absent pregnant Aveline would not listen to reason from her husband Wesley or from Hawke or from anyone else, that she was eating everything and waddling to her chamberpot every few minutes, that she kept trying to tidy up and the pink and blue ribbons in her office simply had to go.

"I see," said Fenris. He wasn't sure what to make of all this. He was halfway down the stairs to Lowtown when a silent dark figure glided in beside them.

"Isabela," cried Anders cheerfully. "We were just talking about Aveline and her new baby. Do you think it's going to be a girl or a boy?"

"It doesn't matter which. Aveline will make a wonderful mother," said Isabela's voice. Not her smarmy, sexy purr, but the accent and confidence were the same. A backward glance revealed the Rivaini pirate woman he knew, but in considerably more clothing. Dark-dyed leathers that fit well. Instead of accessories she had tiny vials of swirling mixtures that he imagined her poisons. Her hair was covered in a dark bandana rather than the blue one. Fenris blinked and turned around. He almost hit a wall and swerved away in the nick of time.

"He's hungover," said Anders. Fenris scowled over his shoulder, but the mage rambled on, unperturbed. "Are you on your way to see that handsome Antivan who arrived at the Hanged Man at dawn?"

Fenris walked a pace ahead of them, listening without looking back. This seemed like important information about this relic Isabela was so keen on hiding.

"Something like that. I've had him tracking Castillion's potential buyers," she answered. Her voice lowered and Fenris strained to hear it over the crowd. "He thinks he is invincible because he survived the Arishok's wrath when he stole the Tome of Koslun."

He stumbled and Anders caught his arm. "Maker, I might have to break my own rule about hangover healings," said the mage.

"Do not touch me," Fenris growled, jerking his arm away.

"What's wrong with you?" Isabela snapped, stepping forward. "Don't take out your drunken festivities with Hawke on us."

Anders drew away and shook his head. "Never mind. Let's get you some water before we get there," he sighed. "I can't approve the hair-of-the-dog method, being a healer and all. Not that I would judge you."

"I would," said Isabela. She melted back into the shadows, and Fenris blinked. It was no easy task in daylight, as he knew from experience. Everything was too strange.

* * *

><p>As they ascended the stairs of the Hanged Man toward Varric's suite, Fenris could hear the dwarf talking to someone. He sounded... woeful. Mournful. "I know he was a pain in the ass and all, but I never wanted him to die. He loved it down there. I didn't care for it myself, but Bartrand thought it was wonderful. His last words were that the stone sang to him."<p>

Fenris paused, listening, and Anders glanced at him before doing the same.

The voice that answered was Merrill's, but not. Not the frivolous squeak he was used to, though it was light and lilting and delicate. Calm, soothing. Not foolish, but wise. "Then your brother died among your Ancestors, Varric. Who can ask more than to live and die at the heart of our gods? Whether it is the Creators that my people worship or the Maker, those who embrace their faith are always rewarded when their time comes."

"No wonder she's the youngest Keeper in Dalish history," Anders breathed, giving the door a lovestruck stare. Fenris blinked and stared at the blonde mage. "She's so brilliant."

Unable to think of a response, Fenris grunted. This strange Merrill's words rang in his head as they walked into the suite. Varric sat there in his usual duster, staring solemnly into a mug of ale. Across from him sat Merrill, in Keeper's garb, her wise gaze briefly touching his when he entered. Fenris took a seat by Varric just to be on the safe side.

"Where's Hawke?" asked Anders cheerfully.

"Went to the privy," sniffed Varric, "About half an hour ago." He took a long swig of ale and then burst into sloppy tears, muttering about Bartrand and how he'd been too young to die.

"Oh, there you are, Hawke" called Anders, looking outside of the door. "We were just looking for you.

Fenris turned and stared for a second at Hawke. Then he fainted.

* * *

><p>In case you hadn't guessed, the differences are as follows:<p>

Aveline's husband Ser Wesley didn't die on the flight from Lothering.

Varric's brother died of the Blight in the Deep Roads before he could betray them.

Anders never merged with Justice and has remained with the Wardens.

Isabela is working for the Qunari to track down the stolen Tome.

Merrill is Keeper of her clan. There's more, but I won't spoil my own story.


	2. Chapter 2

*love!* Yes, T.I.M. this was originally gonna be part of the AU series... and it was too long. But it kept chewing on my arm and I had to make it happen.

Sorry for the length of time between updates!

* * *

><p>Voices jar him awake and Fenris cracks an eye. Now that his strange dream is over, he wonders if he ought to mention it to Varric. The dwarf would certainly be able to make something of it, but then again, he would talk to everyone who'd listen.<p>

"Maker, Fenris, we didn't drink _that_ much," chides a female voice. His eyes snap open and latch on to the speaker. Hawke. Not the hairy, bearded Garrett Hawke he's known for some four years, but a woman. A beautiful woman. Dark hair falling across her brilliant eyes and pale skin. Delicate features and such a blue, vivid gaze. Fenris stares, awestruck at Hawke's beauty and femininity. No. This is not possible. He cannot be attracted to his leader, even if Hawke is now a woman. It makes no sense.

"Where is Hawke?" he asks, rubbing his head and scowling at the woman. He sits up and edges away before her proximity can cause issues.

She rolls her eyes. "Do you need me to wear a bell on my neck?" she grins. "I'm right here." It's something Hawke would say. But in a deep, man-bear voice. Not with a twinkling laugh that makes the dusty sunlight sparkle and a smile that makes his stomach coil uncomfortably. And Hawke would _never_ inspire such vapid poetry.

"You are... a woman," he says, otherwise at a loss.

"And here I thought no one would ever notice," she laughs. Feigning a swoon, she drapes herself over his lap, still giggling. "Take me now, Fenris," she says in a deep, sultry voice. If it is meant to be mocking, he does not see the humor. If it is meant to mock him, well, he does not know why he suddenly feels so ruffled at the thought of this female Hawke mocking him, but it makes him seethe.

With a growl and a shove he dislodges her. "Do not touch me," he grates out.

"How bad of a hangover can it be?" asks Anders, frowning. Varric and Merrill gather around him and Fenris feels surrounded.

"I do not have a hangover!" Fenris yells. He scrambles to his feet and backs away from them, but they are cutting off the exit. "It is this place. It is all of you. You are all different."

Hawke raises a brow. Varric perks up a bit. Anders looks baffled.

Merrill (the blighted Keeper?) squints faintly and then nods once decisively. "You are from another world," she murmurs, her stare at once soothing and entrancing. Wary, Fenris steels his mind, but she continues to speak, "A place beyond the Fade, but connected to it. That is how you came to be here, in place of the Fenris we know." She sounds rather like the witch he encountered with Hawke so long ago on Sundermount, the first time he met a maddeningly cheery blood-mage outcast.

"The Fenris we know?" Hawke asks, glancing at Merrill quizzically.

Merrill nods. "Indeed. He hails from a place that is Kirkwall, yet is not. Am I correct?" Her solemn gaze returnsto Fenris.

He gapes for a second. Then he has to nod. Does he actually respect this Merrill? "Yes. Isabela is a pirate and Aveline's husband died in the Blight. Varric's brother survived the Deep Roads, but left us there to die. Anders is an abomination who wears robes. And Hawke is a man." He has never said quite so much in such a frenzy, but he can't stop himself until he's done speaking.

"And what about Sebastian and Carver?" asks a familiar, lilting voice from the doorway. In walks Sebastian in his white armor, a grin on his face and a roguish twinkle in his eyes. He slides an easy arm around Hawke's waist and kisses her cheek loudly. Fenris feels a surge of rage.

"Sebastian is a Chantry brother," Fenris says with ice in his voice.

Everyone in the room laughs. Even Merrill's wise facade cracks into a grin and she chuckles. Varric and Anders have tears running down their faces, they're laughing so hard. Fenris glares, ashamed and angry at these people for laughing at him.

"Oh, Maker," says Sebastian, running a hand through his hair. "That might be the funniest thing I've heard in a while."

"He would burn if he set foot in there," Anders adds cheerfully.

"I can't help it that all the statues of Andraste have great tits," Sebastian grins. He turns his rakish charm toward Hawke and Merrill. "Though they can't compare to you ladies."

"Be glad Isabela isn't here," Hawke snickers, settling into a chair. "She'd snap your neck for even looking." A thoughtful look crosses her face and she taps her lips with a forefinger thoughtfully. Fenris stares at the lip-tapping like he's never seen such a gesture before. For how compelling this has suddenly become, he may well not have ever seen anyone do that before. Blue eyes sparkle as she looks up at him. "So how about pirate Isabela? What would she say to Sebastian?"

Fenris shrugs. "Suffice it to say there would be very little actual conversation," he comments dryly.

"There he is," Anders says, slinging an arm around Fenris' shoulders. Fenris stiffens and bites down on an urge to tear the man's arm off. "Maker, you've been a right prig all morning. How awful can this alternate Kirkwall be if Isabela is a pirate wench and Sebastian is the one with the Chantry?"

"Why are you touching me?" he growls at the mage.

Anders shakes his head and withdraws his arm. "We're back into the prig thing. And here I was worrying you wouldn't return to normal," he sighs, managing to sound simultaneously sarcastic and wounded. Fenris glowers at the mage.

Hawke reaches up to pat Anders' back and Fenris feels that horrifying knot of jealousy, worse than he did with Sebastian because she initiated the contact. "Oh, don't worry, Anders. He's still your best friend," she says confidently. Her bright blue eyes catch at his and Fenris feels a sudden confused pang at the note of warning in her gaze. He's seen that look before... on Isabela's face every time Hawke sided with Aveline.

"Best friend?" Fenris echoes, confused. His mind whirls and he feels caught in her stare. _Venhedis_, this is too much to take in. All of his companions are different. His best friend is Anders the Abomination, who apparently isn't an abomination. Wait... 'best friend?' The term itself is contradictory. Fenris does not have friends. Well, maybe Hawke, and perhaps Isabela and Varric have managed to encroach in their own way. Hell, even Aveline qualifies as a friend on those days she silently glides by and leaves him a report of a nest of slavers 'necessarily executed in the line of duty.' But it has never before occurred to him that he might have some semblance of order to these grudgingly accepted connections.

"Come here," says Hawke suddenly, hopping to her feet and shifting toward him, hands outstretched. How is it that he can only now appreciate how well-fitted her gown is? He flinches and she sighs, rolls her eyes and steps deliberately closer. Her hands draw slowly up to his temples, thumbs brushing a few strands of his hair aside almost tenderly. Fenris can't decide if her fingers are warm or cool or some perfect alternating combination of fluctuating temperature designed to soothe. Sighing, he lets his head droop forward, into the cradle of her healing magic.

Maker, what is he doing? As the throb of his headache recedes, he jerks out of her grasp. Fenris is no fool; he has spent enough time around Hawke and his (her?) friends to recognize the implications of a person's expression. But the flash of hurt in this female version of Hawke's eyes sinks through him like a shiv and he staggers back, confused.

He has no choice but to flee the Hanged Man, aware of the humiliating burn of so many stares upon his retreating back.

* * *

><p>Naturally, in this horrifyingly unnatural version of Kirkwall, it is Anders who finds him perched like a gargoyle atop the roof of his mansion.<p>

"I really hate being up here," the mage huffs as he edges over the crumbling tiles with cautious clinks of his Warden-issue chain mail. Anders wrinkles his nose, paling several shades, and looks determinedly at Fenris. "Magical bubbles might work and all, but the transparency issue does nothing to help a man with his fear of heights."

"You are a mage," Fenris points out. "Falling off a roof will hardly end your life."

Anders chuckles. "I imagine it would be good for a broken bone or two."

Silence descends between them. Fenris frowns and stares across the courtyard. This used to be overgrown, in _his_ Kirkwall, a tangle of weeds he could not see through. Now he realizes that he can see into Hawke's bedroom window. What does it all mean? Nothing makes sense any longer and it terrifies him. Not the least the fact that he is having a civil conversation with Anders, of all people, while staring through the window of a beautiful female version of his friend and fellow warrior Hawke.

Thank the Maker she's not in there.

"So," says the mage, and a slight strained note in his voice makes Fenris stare at him. "Why did you run off from her this time?"


End file.
